


Inklings and Asters

by GreenCat42



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Pining Crowley, SO MUCH FLUFF, Tattoo Shop AU, and oblivious Aziraphale, flower shop au, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenCat42/pseuds/GreenCat42
Summary: Crowley has noticed the cute tattoo shop owner since he moved in next door with his flower shop. It takes him forever to get the courage up to go talk to him, and when he does, well he gets a new tattoo out of it and possibly more.





	Inklings and Asters

Thanks to a lovely post on [Tumblr](https://anthonycrowley.tumblr.com/post/185543246716/dragonfox-in-a-teacup-anthonycrowley), who btw you should check out her Tumblr, lovely posts and such, I decided to write this. This is my first Good Omens fic and hopefully, there will be more. Enjoy!

* * *

Aziraphale has passed by the flower shop every day for years, but never paid to too much of a mind. He was busy taking care of his tattoo parlor and his books. Which was also somewhat confused with a bookshop. How people got the two mixed up was a rather odd occurrence. A faint sound of yelling rolled out from one of the open windows making him wonder just what the flower shop owner was doing. Aziraphale didn’t have time to ponder, he had a 2 pm appointment with a young lady who wanted a lovely butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. 

The soft sound of bells jangled when he unlocked the door to his shop. Flipping the sign over to open, he passed by the stacks of books, the smell of old books making him smile. He did enjoy books but never wanted to actually sell them, despite inquiries by many a customer. 

After puttering around for a bit and making a cup of tea, he made sure all his supplies were ready. Despite the overflowing shelves of books, there was a room at the back that was kept very clean. It housed his tattoo supplies and chair. Upstairs was his apartment where he lived comfortably. It helped that he had a wealthy family, a large family who he didn’t always get along with. They were of a religious sort and tended to frown upon his profession. 

Sipping his tea, Aziraphale glanced at the clock, seeing it was nearly two. He puttered into the tattoo room and began getting things ready. He had the butterfly design already printed out on the temporary tattoo paper, his inks all filled, everything sanitized. Despite the cluttered look of the rest of the shop, it was clean. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The door opened and the bells jingled. “Hello?” a soft feminine voice called.

“Just a moment dear,” Aziraphale replied setting down a pot of ink and grabbing his tea. 

He’d met the young woman a few weeks earlier. She’d come into schedule a tattoo appointment and discuss her ideas. “Hello Mr. Aziraphale,” she said and smiled.

“Would you like any tea, Emily wasn’t it?” he asked setting his own cup down.

“Yes, that’s right. Oh no thank you, I’d like to get started if that’s ok.”

“Very well, come with me.”

She followed him past the many stacks of books and into his tattoo parlor. “Please have a seat.”

Emily settled onto the plush leather of the tattoo seat. Her short legs stretched out and she shrugged the light sweater off her shoulders exposing a tank top. “I figured this would be easier to work with,” she said.

“That was very kind of you. I’m going to wash my hands and we can get started.”

There was a small sink that he could wash his hands and slide blue gloves on his hands. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing arms that were a little pudgier than he’d liked. People were always startled when they found out he was a tattoo artist, this soft well-spoken man who liked to wear cream colored clothing and the occasional blue. “If it hurts too much please let me know. We can take as many breaks as you need.”

“Oh thank you,” Emily sighed in relief. “This is my second tattoo. The first was dreadful and hurt like no other. The tattoo artist wouldn’t even stop, saying that I was being a baby.”

Anger flared up in Aziraphale’s chest. How unkind, that’s not anyone should treat a customer. “That’s terrible my dear.”

She nodded looking a little sad. “Now, you want this butterfly on your shoulder, which one would you like?”

“The left one please.”

Bells jingled making Aziraphale start. He wasn’t expecting anyone. “Just be a moment,” he called, then turned to Emily. “Please excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.”

He rose to his feet, peeling off his gloves. Making a face about having to wash his hands again and use new gloves, Aziraphale headed out to the front. 

A tall slender man stood peering curiously at the books, sunglasses perched on his nose. Tousled red hair flopped over one side, trimmed neatly at the sides. He wore all black, except for a thin silvery grey scarf loosely wrapped around his neck. “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

The man stood up startled, his long slender fingers curling back from the spines of the books. “This is Inklings, isn’t it?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. 

“Yes, it is. I do have a customer at the moment, are you here to schedule a tattoo appointment?” Aziraphale asked as politely as he could. 

“Y-yes.”

“Oh good, let me get my appointment book and we can get you penciled in.”

It was tucked under a few Shakespeare plays, ones that Aziraphale had been reading on his downtime. “I do have an opening on Thursday at 4 pm, does that work?” Aziraphale asked.

The tall man shifted from foot to foot, like he couldn’t stand still for more than a few moments. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

“Do you have an idea of what you would like?”

“A snake, uh yeah, on my arm.”

“Very well, what kind of snake?”

“You could-uh design it, any kind is fine.”

Red flared across those high cheekbones, but his eyes were hidden by his sunglasses. ‘ _Must be an aesthetic thing,’_ Aziraphale thought. 

“Very well, I’ll start a few ideas tomorrow and if you don’t like them, we can figure it out from there.”

“See you then.”

“Oh, what name should I put down for the appointment?” Aziraphale asked before he could leave.

“Anthony Crowley,” he called over his shoulder and the door shut behind him.

After jotting down the name in the 4 pm slot, he closed the book and hurried back to the parlor. Emily was on her phone, scrolling through whatever social media that was popular. Aziraphale preferred a landline, his cell phone still an antiquated flip phone. “So sorry you had to wait.”

Emily simply smiled up at him. “It’s fine, I don’t know how you run a shop without an assistant or something.”

“Oh, I’m not busy enough to need one,” Aziraphale assured her going back to rewash his hands and slide on another pair of gloves.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Yes,” was the reply.

+++

Crowley paced back and forth in the back of his shop. “Stupid stupid stupid,” he grumbled rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

The sunglasses that normally covered his eyes had been slid up on the top of his head, tangling in his red hair. Crowley had meant to go ask the soft-spoken tattoo artist out to lunch, but instead, he got tongue-tied and agreed to a tattoo. This was a disaster, a terrible disaster. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford a tattoo, but he’d never gotten one before. His family was a very rough and tumble sort, bikers and a few were mafia. Crowley had distanced himself from his terrible upbringing, opening a flower shop despite his apparent bad boy looks. Black didn’t show dirt and made him look cool. 

Determined to distract himself from the memory of the smile that the charming tattoo artist gave him, he grabbed a plant mister. Crowley had found a book from the 1970s that had explained how good it was to talk to plants, but it never actually said how to talk to them. Growing up with siblings that yelled, screamed, and bullied each other; Crowley tried the same tactics. He growled under his breath, spraying his plants. They seemed to grow well, almost afraid to disappoint him. There were no spots, he didn’t tolerate spots ever. 

The door to his shop opened, a faint rattle of tin cans smacking each other. Crowley hated bells, that tinkling sound they made, so he tied three tin cans together and strung them up so they would bang together. It made an off-tune metallic sound that he didn’t mind. “Hello?” 

Crowley sauntered up to the front, mister still in one hand. “What do you want?” he asked.

Somehow he still got customers no matter how rude he was. Word was that he had the best flowers in town and it spread annoyingly. The older woman frowned and clucked her tongue at him. “Roses young man, none of those pathetic ones either.” 

Crowley knew that telling her that he was almost forty wasn’t going to help, and grumbled under his breath about being called young man. “How many do you want,” he called over his shoulder not slowing down for her.

“A dozen, what else,” she retorted.

Crowley preferred to grow his roses out back and cut what he needed for the day before he opened. They seemed to grow better in large planters and despite his thorny grumpy nature, he did like to drink tea next to them taking in their sweet smell. He carefully took out twelve red roses, careful of their spines and not waiting for the customer, sauntered to the counter. 

“You better have picked me the best roses young man!” the older woman snapped.

“Only the best,” Crowley hissed between his teeth. 

He wrapped them in paper, slender fingers gentle. “That’ll be $42.95,” he said.

“Outrageous! These flowers aren’t worth that much!” 

Crowley bared his teeth just a tiny bit, a bitter smile curling on his lips. “If you don’t like the price, then get out.”

The older woman grumbled about highway robbery, but pulled out money and handed it to Crowley. He punched in a few buttons on his vintage cash register and handed her her change. Crowley should have handed her the flowers and thanked her for coming, but he didn’t feel like it, so he turned away and began misting the plants again. “Catch me coming here again,” she muttered snatching up the roses and stalking out of the shop.

People seemed to say that a lot to him, but more or less came back for more flowers. At least this had been a good distraction from the tattoo artist’s smile and the funny bubbling sensation it put in his chest. Crowley had flings, he’d gone through his share of partners, but never love. Love was a mushy, gross emotion that only got people into trouble. 

Deep in thought, he paused at a small potted gardenia. It had just started to bloom, but there were a few holes in the leaves. “What is that?” he growled. “You dare?!” 

He grabbed the pot anger bubbling in his chest. “You all know the consequences! GROW BETTER!” he snarled at the rest of the plants in his shop. 

Crowley never caught it, but he could’ve sworn they shivered, leaves trembling as he lugged the gardenia outside. He grabbed a pair of garden shears. “You disobeyed me, now you’re going to have to face the consequences.”

The plants inside never knew what he actually did to the plants who didn’t grow well enough, but the roses did. He trimmed off the leaves and sprayed it with debugging spray. “You are going to grow better for me,” he said.

Close to the alleyway was a small garden, a mismatched group of plants grew, some heavily trimmed. Several alley cats blinked at him, a few leaves smooshed under their furry bellies. They watched him plant the gardenia into the earth. Glaring at it behind his sunglasses, he stalked back inside carrying the empty pot inside. 

+++

Aziraphale almost forgot the appointment he had with Mr. Crowley, doodling his afternoon away. He had several sketches of snakes settled around him when the door opened and the bells jingled happily. Looking up, he couldn’t help but smile at the tall man sauntering into his shop. “Afternoon,” he said getting up from his chair.

He had to stretch a little, get the kinks out of his back from sitting so long. “H-hello,” Mr. Crowley replied.

The other man was dressed again in all black, his sunglasses perched on his nose. Aziraphale wondered why, but that was a personal question and he wasn’t one to pry into stranger’s business; friend’s business certainly. It was for their own good after all. “Would you like some tea before we start?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, uhm sure.”

“Please make yourself comfortable. I started some sketches, but I’d like to get your input, please. I’ll be back shortly.”

He went to another room that led off the front room, there was no door, just a small hallway. It was just as cluttered with books, but a table was cleared off with a hot plate and a kettle with several mugs settled next to it. Aziraphale turned on the kettle, making sure it had water in it. 

Mr. Crowley was looking over the sketches when he walked back into the room. “What do you think?” he asked fiddling with the pocket watch he kept on his person.

“They’re lovely, I-uh I didn’t know you could draw so well,” Mr. Crowley replied.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said beaming a bright smile at the other man.

He wasn’t sure what to make of the other man’s blush that crept on his cheeks or the way he nearly dropped one of the drawings he held. “Is there one you like better than the others?” Aziraphale asked.

Mr. Crowley scanned the drawings, carefully sifting through them and pulled out one. It was a black and white ink drawing he’d done. The snake was outlined, details of scales inside the body, curling around itself. “This one is uh what I like.”

“Very well, I just have to print it off and we can get started.”

“Can I see?” Mr. Crowley asked curiously.

“Of course, follow me please.”

Then the tea kettle started whistling. “Ah yes, of course, the tea, I almost forgot.”

The tall man followed him, sauntering in a way that made Aziraphale wonder how he did it. Aziraphale turned off the hotplate and grabbed two mugs. “I don’t know what kind of tea you like.”

Mr. Crowley scanned the tea selection, grabbing a packet of black tea. “This is my favorite,” he said.

Aziraphale watched him out of the corner of his eye while he poured the tea. Mr. Crowley was attractive, all long lean lines and a jaw that made most men jealous. The black attire didn’t lessen the attractiveness, it made him mysterious, but Aziraphale was also wondering what his eye color was. He turned to face the man handing him a mug that his brother had given as a gag gift one Christmas. It read “Right Angel or Isosceles Angel ” on it. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get your tattoo started shouldn’t we?” 

With the other man trailing behind him once more, Aziraphale scanned the drawing. It was one of the few technologies that he actually used, but his laptop was years out of date. It slowly loaded and he could print off the temporary tattoo to go off of. “What’s that for?” Mr Crowley asked.

“I can go off of this and find the right placement for you,” Aziraphale replied. 

Mr. Crowley looked around at the sterile room when they entered, confusion making an eyebrow raise above the dark sunglasses. “Are you sure you don’t run a bookshop?” he asked.

“No, I do not,” Aziraphale replied sounding a bit sharper than he meant to. “I enjoy books, why should I have to keep them away from my business.”

A tiny quirk of lips was the only sign that Mr. Crowley didn’t take offense to his biting words. “Understandable.”

“Shall we get on with it?”

“Better now than later,” Mr. Crowley said, although a bit of color fled from his cheeks. 

Aziraphale went and washed his hands, pulling on a pair of blue gloves. Mr. Crowley had slid off his black jacket and rolled up one of his sleeves. “Will this-uh hurt?”

“The first tattoo is always hard, it will sting. If you need to take a break, Mr. Crowley, let me know please.” 

“You can call me Crowley if you like.”

“Very well, then you may call me Aziraphale.”

Crowley nodded and settled into the leather chair. Aziraphale pressed the temporary tattoo over Crowley's skin, wetting it with a small mister. He pulled it back, exposing the faint inked skin below. "You ready?" 

"As I'll ever be," came the curt reply. 

He turned on the tattoo gun, making sure the ink was secure and leaned over pressing the buzzing gun to his pale warm skin. 

Crowley tensed, his arm flexing a bit. "Just try to calm down, think of something happy," Aziraphale said, keeping his voice low and even. 

Glancing up he saw a tic flexing in Crowley's jaw, but his sunglasses hid eyes making it hard to read him. 

The only sounds were the buzzing of the gun and soft breathing. The head was coming along nicely, his hand steady as usual. Then Crowley swallowed hard, a lone tear falling below his sunglasses. His lower lip wavered and a soft whimper left his lips. Aziraphale immediately stopped, setting the gun down. He tried not to panic, but his hands shook a bit. "Does it hurt?"

"Y-yes, I'm sorry, I tried to hold it back."

"I'm going to go fetch you some tea," Aziraphale stood abruptly peeling off his gloves. He dealt with his panic with tea. 

His hands shook a little while he turned on the kettle and grabbed another mug and tea bag. It was his job to make sure his customers were comfortable and he’d made Crowley cry. Aziraphale wasn’t shaken by it because he was hot and to be honest he found him attractive, no it was because he didn’t want his customers to feel pain. Which was an unfortunate part of being a tattoo artist. He poured the tea using it to calm him and hurried back.

Crowley had pushed up his sunglasses and was wiping his eyes with his other arm. “I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale said handing the tea out to him like a peace offering.

Pale amber eyes locked onto his and Aziraphale almost forgot to breathe. His eyes were beautiful, so enchanting he blinked several times and tried not to sputter too much. “Here’s your tea.”

“Thank you,” Crowley murmured taking the tea. “Sorry.”

“We’ll take a little break and try again, if-if you want to. I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Again that quirk of lips briefly flashing on Crowley’s face. “It’s not too bad, I didn’t know it would hurt this bad though.”

Aziraphale hummed and settled on his stool. “I bawled during my first tattoo, like a child. I was stupid and got a pair of angel wings on my shoulders,” he said.

Pale eyes watched him curiosity clear in them. “You remembered,” Crowley said.

“Mmm?”

“This is the tea I picked out earlier.”

Heat flared across Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Well, yes I uh,” he coughed a bit not wanting Crowley to know that he had tucked that bit of information away in case he could persuade the man to have tea sometime. 

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a while, it wasn’t awkward just a bit comfortable. “I think, I think we can start again.”

“Alright, let me wash up again, I’ll take your tea,” Aziraphale said. “If it hurts too much, I want you to tell me right away.”

Crowley still hadn’t hidden his eyes, the sunglasses perched firmly on his head, tangling in his bright red hair. “I will.”

“You promise?”

The redhead nodded another one of his sly smiles curling on his lips. 

Aziraphale had to take several breaks watching the reactions and offering more tea. _‘I’m going to have to buy another box of that black tea soon,’_ he thought sipping his own.

The tattoo was processing along slowly, but looking lovely. It wouldn’t be much longer, Crowley seemed to be able to handle the pain better. 

Finally, with a final wipe of his towel, he looked over the tattoo with a critical eye. It had reddened, but new tattoos always looked red and a bit puffy the first few days. “I want you to use this cream on it, and keep it dry,” Aziraphale instructed after he set down the tattoo gun.

He went and fetched a small bottle of tattoo lotion and a piece of saran wrap. He smoothed some of the cream on the skin making Crowley hiss a tiny bit. “Sorry.”

Next, he wrapped the newly tattooed skin in saran wrap carefully and gently. “There we go.”

“Thank you, now, how much do I owe you?”

“I’ll check my rates, shall we go to the front room?”

Crowley got out of the chair stretching his lanky form and grabbing his black jacket. He slung it over his shoulder giving off a dashing look that made Aziraphale want to stare. Instead, he walked out peeling off his gloves and disposing of them in the trash. 

It took him a moment to find his rate book and he flipped through it to seem like he was looking hard. To be honest, he'd be ok with giving Crowley a free tattoo, but Crowley didn’t seem like the person who wanted handouts. “Given the time, $150,” he said closing the leather bound book.

“That uh that seems rather cheap,” Crowley said pulling out his wallet, which was, of course, black leather.

“No color, and it didn’t take long,” Aziraphale simply said waving a hand at him.

What did surprise him was being handed crisp bills instead of a credit card. There was more money tucked inside that he spotted. He put the money in his old till he’d found at an estate sale and handed him his change. “I hope you have a good day,” Aziraphale said giving him the biggest smile.

Crowley paused after putting his wallet away as if he wanted to say something else, instead nodded. “You too.”

Aziraphale told himself that he didn’t watch the man’s ass as he sauntered out of the tattoo parlor, the door shutting with a happy jingle of bells. Sighing, Aziraphale turned and went to clean up his station and put away the mugs. 

+++

Crowley didn’t see the cute tattoo artist for a few days and surprisingly there was a closed sign hanging on his shop during his normal open hours. Chewing on his lower lip Crowley debated about checking up on him. _‘We’re strangers, I barely know him, that would be weird,’_ he thought turning to go inside his own shop.

“Crowley?” he heard a voice call when he turned the key into the door. 

Turning his head, he spotted Aziraphale leaving his shop keys in hand. “Why hello,” Crowley said.

His heart stuttered when the other man smiled at him. It was like sunshine had been pulled into that mouth, warm and inviting. “You own the flower shop,” he said.

“Yes, I do. Is everything ok? I uh noticed your shop was closed today.”

Frustration and a tiny bit of anger flared in those green-blue eyes. “Family issues I’m afraid,” he replied his mouth thinning out.

“Ah,” was all Crowley replied with. 

He knew how annoying family could be, he avoided his own for very specific reasons. “So sorry to leave you, but I’m running late. We could have tea sometime if you wish.”

Crowley stopped himself from gaping at the other man. How did he ask him out so flippantly, with so little thought? “S-sure, yeah sounds great.”

“Have a nice day,” Aziraphale said giving him another breathtaking smile and hurrying down the sidewalk. 

Crowley opened the door to his shop and groaned. “How?” he muttered shutting the door and leaning against it. 

Pushing his sunglasses up on his head, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose and went to water his flowers. 

Two days later, the door to his shop opened, the cans rattling. Crowley didn’t bother to welcome them, whoever they were. “Hello?” a familiar voice called.

His arm froze over the plant he was watering. Was that-was that? “Is anyone there?” 

Crowley had to do something, so he hurried through the rows of plants until he spotted him. “There you are, I was wondering when you’d show up,” Aziraphale said his lips turning up in a warm smile.

“Did you-uh did you need some flowers?” Crowley managed to get out.

 _‘Keep it cool, act cool, you can do it, Anthony,’_ he thought. 

“Yours are quite lovely, they would be good to study for clients,” Aziraphale said peering over at the lush flowers that covered every shelf of his shop. 

“The asters have been doing really well lately,” Crowley said pointing to the pretty purple flowers growing nearby.

They shivered just a tiny bit when he glared in their direction. “They are lovely, how much?” 

Crowley swallowed, and instead leaned on one of the shelves. “For you, angel,” he said sneering the word just a tiny bit. “$4 for a dozen.”

Red flared across the tips of Aziraphale’s ears. He coughed just a bit the red flooding his cheeks. “Well then, I’ll take a dozen please.”

Normally Crowley sold them at $20/dozen, but they were the prettiest in town. He hoped Aziraphale didn’t know flowers, he hoped that the shorter plumper tattoo artist wouldn’t know what asters meant. His fingers trembled just a tiny bit, but he steeled his grip and clipped a dozen.

“You better stay fresh for as long as he needs you,” he growled lowly at the flowers. 

Aziraphale was looking briefly at some other flowers, cooing at them. “What are you cooing at them for? They’re just plants,” Crowley grumbled a bit jealous that he wasn’t the center of attention.

“Of course you’ve read that talking to plants helps them grow,” Aziraphale said. “My dear if you haven’t you should look into it.”

“I have, its nonsense,” Crowley muttered wrapping up the asters in paper.

“How’s your tattoo healing?” Aziraphale asked pulling out a light brown wallet. 

“It's itchy, I put the cream on it though.”

“Wonderful, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Your total is $4.45,” Crowley said.

He wanted to ask him, he always tried to gather the courage up, but every time it failed him. Aziraphale handed him money telling him brightly to keep the rest as a tip. Crowley then did something he never did usually, he handed him the flowers and walked him to the door. “Were you doing anything later?” Aziraphale asked fiddling with the paper of the flowers.

“Why?” Crowley asked blinking in surprise.

“I did invite you to tea the last time we spoke, we could have tea?” 

Something broke in Crowley, he’d watched the tattoo artist from afar, he’d been too cowardly to even talk to him for the first year after he’d set up shop next door. Now, now this soft sweet man standing in front of him asks him so innocently to tea not knowing that it sent his heart tripping over itself. So, Crowley did the next best thing, he opened his mouth and spouted absolute nonsense. “Oh for god’s sake, I never meant to get a tattoo, I panicked and-and then you were so kind and so I went with it. It hurt and you did everything to make me feel better and all I wanted to do was ask you out to lunch sometime,” Crowley rambled bowing his spine and clutching at his hair. “I’ve had this stupid crush on you for like forever and never got the courage to ask you out and now I’ve ruined it with my stupid prattling.”

Gentle hands gripped his wrists pulling his hands down from his hair. “Crowley, it's ok. Calm down please my dear,” Aziraphale said in a soft soothing voice.

His heart tripped over itself again when he met the soft blue-green eyes. “You just had to ask me.”

Crowley swallowed hard trying to ignore the warmth radiating through his sleeves from his hands, the gentle way he held him. “Will-will you go out to lunch with me?” 

A sweet smile curled on Aziraphale’s lips. “Yes, I’d love to.”

“Oh well then,” Crowley said only a tiny bit disappointed when Aziraphale let go of his wrists and bent down to pick up his flowers he’d dropped. “We can still have tea today, would tomorrow work for lunch? Say 12:30?”

“Yes, that’s perfect,” Aziraphale said smiling. “So sorry, I have a 3 pm appointment. Meet me next door at 6?” 

Crowley simply nodded and watched him leave, letting out a deep breath he had been holding and let the smile curl up on his lips. It had been a while since he smiled this big, his cheeks hurt. He did it! He’d asked Aziraphale out to lunch, it had just taken a mild break down to do it. Turning, he realized he needed to plan. Where was he going to take Aziraphale, what was he going to wear? Panic settled in his chest, and he hurried to the back of his shop to plan.

+++

Aziraphale tried to listen to Gabriel, he really did, but all he could think of was the warm smile Crowley had given him after asking him to lunch. “Aziraphale, could you listen to me for once?” his brother grumbled.

“Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Mother and Father wanted to know if you would be coming to the reunion next weekend.”

“Really, you had me meet up this morning to discuss the reunion?” Aziraphale asked with a sigh.

He could be getting ready for his lunch date, but no he was sitting in his brother’s apartment talking about a reunion with family he didn’t care much for. “Well yes, Mother wants to know if you’re bringing anyone.”

“You know I’ve never brought anyone to the reunion.”

It wasn’t due to his sexual orientation, but the fact that he rarely found anyone attractive to begin with. Crowley though, he was beautiful, but it was too early for him to meet his family. “There’s always a first,” his brother muttered rolling bright blue eyes.

“Now, I really must be going, I have an appointment to meet,” Aziraphale said standing and smoothing out his coat. 

Gabriel sneered, curling his lip up to show off those pearly white teeth he kept so clean. “You don’t need the money, why do you even bother?” he grumbled.

“Because I like it.”

He didn’t care that his voice was sharp and biting. Aziraphale was used to his family not understanding him, still it stung. “Good day brother.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything more, simply watched his brother leave. 

Aziraphale hoped he would have enough time to change before Crowley picked him up. He took a taxi back to his shop, glad to get out of Gabriel’s sterile and clean apartment. It barely looked lived in compared to his cluttered book covered cozy apartment. 

After paying the driver, Aziraphale got out and hurried inside. He was determined to look his best, it was a first date after all. Luck was on his side, he had just enough time to shower and dress before noon even came around. He paced his shop a bit, trying to settle and read, but still nervous. 

Then the bells to his shop jingled and the door opened Crowley walking inside. “Hello,” he said, giving him the tiny smile.

“Hello to you as well.”

“Are you ready?” 

“Yes, yes I am. Shall we?”

Aziraphale motioned for him to go first, then closed the door behind them and locked it. A vintage Bentley sat at the curb, a car that Aziraphale had seen before, but didn’t know was Crowley’s. “Well?” Crowley said sliding into the driver’s seat.

This made Aziraphale scramble to open the door and get into the seat, clicking the seatbelt firmly around him. “So, where are we going for lunch?” Aziraphale asked when Crowley pulled out into traffic.

“Found a little place that has fantastic food,” Crowley replied weaving in and out of traffic.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but clutch at his seat. Crowley drove fast and reckless and it terrified and thrilled Aziraphale too much. 

They reached the cafe in less time than Aziraphale thought possible. Crowley pulled into a spot and turned off the car. He opened the door and hurried around before Aziraphale had the chance to open his door. Two points of pink flared across the other man’s cheek. “T-thanks,” Aziraphale stammered climbing out of the Bentley.

“After you?” Crowley said motioning next to him.

The two men walked across the parking lot and Aziraphale opened the door for him. He looked around when they entered. The interior of the cafe was warmly lit, dark brown walls and old wooden floors surrounding them. Tables tucked away and it was nice. It wasn’t a cafe Aziraphale would normally go to, but he liked it anyway. A sign said to seat themselves, and so Crowley led him to an empty table. 

It took only a few minutes for a waiter to take their order and drinks. “How did you find this place?” Aziraphale asked.

The small candle lit up their table, a chandelier above them throwing golden light through art deco tinted glass. “A friend of a friend told me about it,” Crowley said playing with the silverware.

The food smelled heavenly when it arrived, complementing the wine Crowley ordered for the two. “So, you’re a tattoo artist,” Crowley said not eating much.

“Yes, I’ve always loved drawing and then I needed something to do. My family thought I should be a doctor or a lawyer, but I decided something different.”

Aziraphale took a bite and couldn’t help but sigh with delight. “This is absolutely scrumptious.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Crowley said leaning over.

He was sprawled out in his chair, long lean legs stretched out beneath the table. One arm was thrown across the back of the chair, the other held a glass of wine. “Thank you for, for inviting me to lunch,” Aziraphale said smiling warmly at the other man.

Crowley coughed, the tips of his ears turning red. “It-it was uh nothing.” 

“So, what’s it like owning a flower shop?”

His sharp features softened just a moment. “It’s quiet, but I have to be strict, the flowers won’t grow better without sharp encouragement.”

“I thought being kind was supposed to make them grow better?”

Crowley growled a bit. “Depends on what book you read,” he retorted. 

This made Aziraphale laugh and Crowley blush. They chatted on for hours until the wait staff were subtly trying to get them to leave. Crowley insisted on paying and opening the door again for him. 

The short trip back to his tattoo parlor was quiet, the only noise was the sound of the car and Queen playing. Crowley pulled into a spot at the curb, the car idling. “Thank you for such a lovely lunch,” Aziraphale said.

“I can uh walk you to the door,” Crowley said.

“Thank you.”

The two got out of the car and walked him the short distance to his door. “Would you like to come in for tea?” Aziraphale asked.

“That-that would be lovely.”

Aziraphale unlocked the door to his shop, hands shaking just a little. His heart thrummed in his chest. Crowley waited behind him, following him inside. “I’ll just be a moment.”

It was comforting waiting for the kettle to boil, and he reached inside to grab the tea that Crowley liked. _‘I barely know him, but I want to so badly,’_ Aziraphale said. 

They had chatted about so many things, Crowley’s love for Queen and the fact that he wore all black because it didn’t show dirt. That was adorable in its own way. The kettle whistled and he poured two cups, favoring his own green tea and taking the two mugs back to the front room. Crowley was peering curiously at some of the books, sunglasses perched on his forehead. “How long have you been collecting books?”

“Since I was a child,” Aziraphale replied handing him the tea.

Crowley quirked a tiny smile when he took a sip. “You have a good memory, angel,” he whispered. 

“I-I like to remember things that are important.”

Crowley set his cup of tea on one of the spare spots of shelves and warm hands took the cup from his fingers. “Can I-can I kiss you?” Crowley asked.

His lean form curled in on himself a bit. “Yes, yes please.”

Thin fingers reached up to brush across his cheek and Aziraphale couldn’t help but lean into the touch. He looked up into pale amber eyes, his eyes closing as warm lips pressed against his. Aziraphale slid his arms around Crowley’s lean form tugging him close. Fingers tangled in his curls, thumbs caressing his cheeks. Crowley groaned so softly and angled his head so he could deepen the kiss. Birds fluttered in Aziraphale's chest, warmth flooding his skin. 

Then Crowley leaned back chest heaving and bright spots on his cheeks. “I’ve wanted to do that for two years, ever since I saw you,” he whispered leaning close and pressing their foreheads together. 

A bright smile curled on Aziraphale’s lips. “Can we do it again?” 

Crowley returned the smile with a bright one of his own and leaned in. “Always, angel.” 


End file.
